Part 40 (2/2)

Malcolm did make haste, and so did Florimel. What precisely was in her thoughts who shall say, when she could not have told herself?

But doubtless the chance of seeing Lenorme urged her more than the desire to see her father's portrait. Within twenty minutes they were riding down Grosvenor Place, and happily heard no following hoofbeats. When they came near the river, Malcolm rode up to her and said,

”Would your ladys.h.i.+p allow me to put up the horses in Mr Lenorme's stable? I think I could show your ladys.h.i.+p a point or two that may have escaped you.”

Florimel thought for a moment, and concluded it would be less awkward, would indeed tend rather to her advantage with Lenorme, should he really be there, to have Malcolm with her.

”Very well,” she answered. ”I see no objection. I will ride round with you to the stable, and we can go in the back way.”

They did so. The gardener took the horses, and they went up to the study. Lenorme was not there, and everything was just as when Malcolm was last in the room. Florimel was much disappointed, but Malcolm talked to her about the portrait, and did all he could to bring back vivid the memory of her father. At length with a little sigh she made a movement to go.

”Has your ladys.h.i.+p ever seen the river from the next room?” said Malcolm, and, as he spoke, threw open the door of communication, near which they stood.

Florimel, who was always ready to see, walked straight into the drawing room, and went to a window.

”There is that yacht lying there still!” remarked Malcolm. ”Does she not remind you of the Psyche, my lady?”

”Every boat does that,” answered his mistress. ”I dream about her.

But I couldn't tell her from many another.”

”People used to boats, my lady, learn to know them like the faces of their friends.--What a day for a sail!”

”Do you suppose that one is for hire?” said Florimel.

”We can ask,” replied Malcolm; and with that went to another window, raised the sash, put his head out, and whistled. Over tumbled Davy into the dinghy at the Psyche's stern, unloosed the painter, and was rowing for the sh.o.r.e ere the minute was out.

”Why, they're answering your whistle already!” said Florimel.

”A whistle goes farther, and perhaps is more imperative than any other call,” returned Malcolm evasively, ”Will your ladys.h.i.+p come down and hear what they say?”

A wave from the slow silting lagoon of her girlhood came was.h.i.+ng over the sands between, and Florimel flew merrily down the stair and across ball and garden and road to the riverbank, where was a little wooden stage or landing place, with a few steps, at which the dinghy was just arriving.

”Will you take us on board and show us your boat?” said Malcolm.

”Ay, ay, sir,” answered Davy.

Without a moment's hesitation, Florimel took Malcolm's offered hand, and stepped into the boat. Malcolm took the oars, and shot the little tub across the river. When they got alongside the cutter, Travers reached down both his hands for hers, and Malcolm held one of his for her foot, and Florimel sprang on deck.

”Young woman on board, Davy?” whispered Malcolm.

”Ay, ay, sir--doon i' the fore,” answered Davy, and Malcolm stood by his mistress.

”She is like the Psyche,” said Florimel, turning to him, ”only the mast is not so tall.”

”Her topmast is struck, you see my lady--to make sure of her pa.s.sing clear under the bridges.”

<script>